


Fairytale

by Sliceofmooncake (Aesoteric)



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Dalish Elves, F/M, Legends, Non-Canonical Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-04
Updated: 2015-11-04
Packaged: 2018-04-30 00:59:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5144462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aesoteric/pseuds/Sliceofmooncake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stories have a way of changing over time. A thousand years after the Inquisition, clan Lavellan has a tale they tell their children.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fairytale

_A thousand years after the Inquisition, the clan Lavellan has a tale they tell their children..._

Once many years ago, the People came to a place within the Emerald Graves and wished to settle there for a time, however, from the size of the tracks they found and the sound of his voice at night, they knew the place was a hunting ground for the Dread Wolf. They despaired, for truly the place was fair and full of game, and they might have rested there during the long winter. The Keeper said, 

“The Dread Wolf is too dangerous, we cannot linger here” but among the People was a wise and beautiful princess who said, 

“Wait, there may be an answer.” She and the Keeper withdrew for several days in conversation and when they emerged he announced that she would seek out the Dread Wolf and subdue him. 

“How?” cried the hunters, “for no arrow finds him and no blade has ever caught him.” 

“I will use neither,” said the princess, “for I intend to make him our ally.” 

That night she put on a cloak of wolf fur and a necklace of wolf teeth and by the light of the moon she went to the favored sleeping place of the Wolf. Bare-handed, she stood in the grove and sang of Fen’harel. Not as Trickster, but as Most Cunning. No hunter was so stealthy, no commander so clever engaging his enemies as was Fen’harel. She sang of the Wolf who walked between worlds and feared no one, and in his den the Wolf awoke. He was not pleased at being woken and had decided to eat her when he stopped to listen to her song. He was pleased, for no mortal had addressed such words to him in years. He listened and listened and liked what he heard, and when she stopped he fell asleep and had bright dreams. In the morning he woke and was embarrassed that he had let himself be so lulled. 

“If she comes back, I will most definitely kill her.” 

The second night the princess returned and when she began to sing, Fen’harel found himself curious to see what she would say next. This time she sang of wolves, so strong alone and yet so much stronger together. She sang of their voices raised in chorus, of mated pairs and fat gray pups at play. In his den, the Dread Wolf found himself growing sad, for he had hunted alone so long that he had forgotten that he was lonely. For all that he walked between worlds, he had no true place that was his and no pack to return to when he wished to travel no more. Again, he listened until she was done and this time when he slept his dreams were sad, full of empty dens and the sound of his voice alone. He awoke angry and swore once again that he would kill her when she came next, however she did not come back the next night, or the next. Still his sleep was troubled and his hunting was distracted, for her words haunted him like sorrowful shades. Finally on the fifth day he tracked her scent to the aravels of the People and called her to the edge of the camp.

“I know not what magic you have used, but take your infernal voice from my head,” he snapped, “I cannot dream as I like, I cannot hunt. Release me and perhaps I shall not destroy your clan.”

She bowed and said,

“My songs had nothing of magic in them, Fen’harel, only the truth. You are cunning, you are alone, and to be a wolf alone is not an easy thing.”

“You dare too much! I am He Who Hunts Alone, I need no one.”

“I would not dare speak of your needs, I only wish to offer you another option. Hear me out.” 

She spoke of her clan, its children and hunters, its elders and craftsmen, and their need for a place to spend the winter. The Wolf’s territory may be anywhere he chooses, but the elvhen are neither so swift nor so hardy as he.  
“Give us leave to stay here a few months. We are not so many that our needs will impact your hunting, and though we are not as wise as Fen’harel there are those among us who would learn from you.”

He laughed at her,

“There are none among you who could understand what I do, but your audacity is amusing. I will think on your request.”

He left, but spent several days nearby watching and listening. He watched the People hunt and sing and work together and realized that their noise was not unpleasant. He watched them tend their children and stand to attention before their leaders and realized that while they were not wolves, they were not so dissimilar. His dreams with the People nearby were warm and pleasant and the voice of the princess was a bright thread among all of them. He returned to the camp and waited until the princess joined him.

“I will tolerate your presence for now, but do not expect any favors from me.”

“Of course not. But while I have your attention, Fen’harel, were you not at the battle of…” 

She asked him questions of history, of his experiences in the Grey, and to his surprise he did not find it unpleasant. She was curious and did not take offense when he contradicted something she believed. He had many tales to tell and it had been years since there had been anyone to listen. She proved to be an appreciative and intelligent audience and so their talks continued every day. 

Weeks passed and she introduced him to the elders who asked for his help clarifying common lore, to the hunters whose brash natures and bright knives made him laugh, and even to the children who brought him flowers and tumbled with each other at his feet like pups at play. As the winter passed, the princess saw to it that Fen’harel was always offered a place at the fires at night and a share of the game taken that day, though he was so large he could have eaten it all in one bite. While he declined, he was nevertheless charmed and began to look forward to his nights with the People who sought his counsel and applauded when he sang. Most of all he enjoyed the company of the princess who was cunning, beautiful and could make him laugh. Gradually the days began to warm, the earth began to awake, and the green of the Emerald Graves began returning to its former glory. The People began counting the days until they would move again and Fen’harel found himself unhappy that they were leaving. The princess noticed his sadness and sought him out.

“I am sorry to see you distressed, my friend, and truly I will be sad to leave your company. However, there may yet be a remedy. If you wish it you may join our clan, but as a man, not a wolf. I have three songs, Fen’harel, two of which you have heard. The third one has magic and if you agree, I can sing away your claws and teeth. My clan will call you brother, and I will call you husband.”

“I am the Dread Wolf! What will I be without my claws and my teeth?”

“Surely you are more than claws and teeth. You are the Dread Wolf and you will always be, but you may also choose to be a man and share the joys of men. I hope that you will come with us, but the decision is yours. We must leave in three days.” She kissed his great muzzle and he felt himself stagger as though he had been shot. 

For two days he wandered arguing with himself, drawing both animals and spirits in the Grey into his arguments until they cowered with fear. By the evening of the third day he had made his choice; he would join the clan and be other than a creature of fear and mistrust, though the idea frightened him. He entered the clearing where the aravels were packed and saw the princess waiting for him, her face like the sun. She reached out to him and he went to her, letting her caress his ears and stroke his face. 

“I am so glad,” she said, “Come, let us be your pack, know shelter and love and comfort with us and be none the less for it.” 

Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, he saw movement in the darkness--the curve of a bow, the flash of a knife.

“You have betrayed me!” he shouted, and in his rage slashed the princess with his great claws and she fell to the ground. The men in the darkness rushed forward and when they came into the light, the Dread Wolf recognized their faces and saw that they bore in open hands a bow that curved like his tail, and a knife that glinted like his teeth. 

“These are my brothers,” the princess whispered, “I asked them to make you welcome-gifts. I have the last here.” From her pocket she drew a ring, beautifully carved and now covered in her blood. Her brothers called desperately for a healer and tried to stop the bleeding with their hands, but it was too late and the claws had gone too deep. Even Fen’harel, mighty though he was, had no power over death and could not save her. In his rage and sorrow he howled her name so that it rang through the forest and disappeared into the darkness. To this day, the mages say that the echo of that cry remains as a memory in the Grey, and that neither Fen’harel nor any other wolf will ever settle in that place again.

_An elven mage with a wolf’s jawbone stands in the Fade over a memory still bright with grief, the landscape twisted around him._

_“They have it wrong again,” he whispers. He closes his eyes and for a moment he imagines he can feel her hand on his shoulder, her voice in his ear._

_“So you told me they always do, vhenan.”_


End file.
